Briar Rose

by Caroline Lee

  She didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t even think she’d breathed since the little squeak she’d made when he’d scooped her up. Tentatively, he opened his eyes, not sure what to expect.

  Briar was sucking on her bottom lip, and Gordon realized that he very much wanted to taste that lip again. And he would, just as soon as he figured out why she was looking at him so uncertainly. Hadn’t she heard what he’d said? “Briar?”

  “I thought you were angry with me.”

  “Hell yes, I was angry with ye. T’ see ye like that? God, I thought I would die right beside ye. I don’t ever want t’ feel that way again.”

  “You really love me, Gordon?”

  His breath exploded out of him. “How can ye doubt it, love? I battled a rosebush for ye.” I saved ye.

  Her lips twitched and she patted his chest once. “Then put me down.”

  Slowly, confused at her demand, he loosened his grip on her knees, and allowed her to slide down his body. But still, even once her feet were on the woven rug by her bed, he kept his arms tightly around her. He might’ve pretended it was for her sake—she was still so weak, after all—but it was really because he couldn’t force himself to let her go.

  “Good.” She nodded, and finally—finally—smiled up at him, and his world lit up once more. “I needed to be standing on my own two feet when I said the same to you. I love you, Gordon MacKinnon.” Her eyes never once left his, but her voice got a little louder when she said, “Thank you for saving me.” He imagined that was for her family, but when she mouthed “My hero,” at him, he smiled.

  “I’ll always be here fer ye, Briar. I’m just sorry ye felt it necessary—”

  She quickly moved her hand from his chest and placed one finger on his lips. That’s when Gordon realized he’d been about to confess the scheme in front of her family. His lips curled under her finger, and he remembered the way her lower lip felt under his thumb, at the wedding all those weeks ago. “I mean, I’m only sorry ye were put in this situation.”

  This time, the gasp that came from behind him was definitely from her grandmother. Without dropping Briar’s gaze, or her warmth, he called out, “Mrs. Swenssen, ye’re responsible fer her condition.” He was speaking to Nana Rose, but didn’t care if the rest of the family heard the underlying anger in his words. He probably should’ve shut his mouth when he saw Briar’s slight wince, but he couldn’t help himself; her grandmother needed to understand. “Ye did this t’ her, with yer scheming an’ yer manipulating.”

  Shut it, Gordy. Insultin’ her family’s not the best way t’ start this relationship. But apparently he shouldn’t have worried. From behind Gordon came a sigh. “You’re right.”

  It wasn’t until Briar’s cinnamon-brown brows went up that he realized he hadn’t imagined it; that had definitely been her grandmother’s voice.

  Both of them turned, but Gordon couldn’t make himself loosen his grip on her. Instead, she twisted in the circle of his arms to face her family. “Nana Rose?”

  The older woman slumped slightly, losing some of the haughty grandeur she usually kept wrapped around herself like a fancy cloak. “He’s right, my dear. The doctor told us what had caused your…illness. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard to marry Roy DeVille Jr. I just…” She met Briar’s gaze, tears in her eyes. “I wanted you to make the right decision.”

  To Gordon’s surprise, it was Briar’s timid mother who spoke up then, quietly and from behind her husband. “It looks like she’s made the right decision, Mother.”

  There were currents in the conversation that Gordon didn’t understand, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He just pulled Briar a bit closer to him, and reveled in the way she felt in his arms.

  The old woman sighed, and nodded in response to her daughter’s words. “Can you forgive me, my dear?”

  “Oh, Nana Rose.” Briar’s smile lit up Gordon’s heart. “Of course. If you’ll help me plan a different wedding.”

  Nana Rose blinked back tears and looked from one to the other. “I’d be happy to, dear, if I ever hear the question.” Her gaze sharpened to a glare that lacked all sting, because Gordon could see the emotions she was trying to hide. “True love is all well and good, but he needs to be able to take care of you.”

  Gordon felt his lips pulling up at the old woman’s tenacity, and he inclined his head slightly to acknowledge her worry. She needed to hear that he could take care of her granddaughter, but some things he needed to say to Briar herself. He took a deep breath—inhaling her apple-sweet scent—and smiled down at his love.

  “I’ve purchased Gilderoy Worth’s bank, Briar. The old one.” He saw, from the way her eyes lit up, that she understood what this meant to him. “Skip’s planning the renovations fer me, an’ I figure that it’ll be ready t’ open sometime in the spring. I’ll have a little apartment in the back. It’s not large, but it’s enough for a home.”

  Her hands snaked their way around his waist, and he loved the way she felt pressed against him. Choosing to be pressed against him. “Congratulations, Gordon! I didn’t realize that you had enough saved already!”

  “I didn’t. Vincenzo loaned me the rest, although he called it a ‘wedding present’.” He knew his grin was self-conscious when he tried for a lame joke. “So I have t’ get married at this point, or I’ll have t’ give the money back, I suppose.”

  One of her brows went up. “And is that the only reason to marry?”

  His smile grew at her pique, until a little chuckle burst out of him. “No. There’s also the small matter o’ not being sure I could go on living wi’out a certain woman in my life.”

  Her smile was as sweet as one of her cakes. “And who would that be?”

  “I need ye beside me, Briar. In my home. In my kitchen. I was ready t’ give up my dream, ye know, t’ have the money t’ court ye proper. But now I don’t have to, an’ I can’t think o’ anyone I’d rather have as my partner.”

  “Oh, Gordon.” Briar melted against him. “I love you. Yes, I love you, but it’s more than that. I want a life with you. I want to stand beside you and help make your dream—our dreams—come true. I want holidays and birthdays and laughter and hard work and cookies. Lots of cookies. And cakes. And tarts.”

  “An’ eclairs?” He remembered the taste of chocolate on her lips.

  She beamed. “Especially eclairs. I want to work beside you, Gordon.”

  There was some sniffling from behind him, but Gordon ignored her family. This moment, right here, her smiling up at him…it was everything he could’ve hoped for. She once told him that he needed to care for people, and he cared for her more than he’d ever thought possible. “I love ye, Briar Rose Jorgenson, an’ I’ve got yer family’s permission t’ court ye.” Inhale. Exhale. “So I guess I need t’ ask ye—”

  “Yes!” She untwined her arms and threw them around his neck. “Yes, Gordon! I’ll marry you!”

  The chuckle started low in his chest, but was cut off when she stood on her tip-toes and kissed him, there in front of her family. He stopped laughing then, and wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, lifting her off the floor, and pulling her even closer. He’d been waiting so long to kiss her, and this one—with her kissing him—was even more special than the first time. And the third one was even better.

  She tasted of apples and cinnamon and chocolate and forever.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at another Everland tale!

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  From Rose Red: an Everland Ever After Christmas Tale, available now!

  “Rose White! You’d better not be in there scribbling!”

  Rose slammed the journal closed on top of her pencil, and scrambled to hide it under the stacks of household bills and receipts she was supposed to be in the parlor categorizing. “No, Mama!” Her mother’s deceptively light footfalls sounded out in the hall, so Rose busied herself laying out the lists of last month’s sales and pretending like she’d been studying them for the last hour.

  Mama swept into the parlor, graceful and overbearing as always, in her second-best gown and winter hat. She managed to look perfect even as she collapsed—carefully—onto the settee and began to pull off her gloves. “December is utterly exhausting, isn’t it, my dear?”

  Rose knew that her mother wasn’t actually expecting an answer, and thus didn’t bother responding. Good thing, too, because Mama continued. “The Ladies’ Club meeting went well. Mrs. Bellini was right to start it, and right to make me the Chair.” A long-suffering sigh, and Rose wondered if her mother had been too “exhausted” to hang up her winter cloak, or if it was currently dripping melted snow into a puddle in the foyer for Rose or her sister to clean. “Although I’m not sure how she managed it, now that she’s married to that cripple.”

  “Signore Bellini isn’t crippled, Mama.” He was blind, certainly, but he made the most beautiful music.

  But she should’ve known better than to interrupt her mother. Mama’s expression rarely wavered from the pinched-lip disapproval she usually wore, even though she was very self-conscious of gaining lines around her eyes and mouth. “Rose!” Her gasp would’ve been comical, if it didn’t forewarn some insulting comment that would wound as deep as any barb could. “Are you hunched over those books? Do sit up!” Rose didn’t think she could straighten any more, but she tried. “How utterly embarrassing for me, to be saddled with a daughter who not only refuses to learn proper decorum, but who writes. If you would learn to be more of a lady, as I’ve tried again and again to instruct you…”

  Mama trailed off with a sigh, and Rose dared to hope that was the end of it. But no. “The ladies all asked after you, you know. Wondered why you weren’t attending.” Because I have no wish to spend the afternoon being told I’m inadequate. “I had to make excuses for you again, of course. I hate it when you put me in such a dreadful position.” Rose hadn’t gone, but she hadn’t been invited, either. And that suited her just fine. Her mother didn’t want her or Snow there, and they were happy for the weekly break from Mama’s often-difficult company.

  To distract the older woman from her own inadequacies, Rose tried to steer the conversation back to the meeting. “Did you make any good plans for the Christmas Festival?”

  “Yes.” Mama was frowning, though, eyeing Rose’s dress. “It will be on the twenty-fourth, as always. They requested Snow be in charge of decorating again, and I will of course be overseeing the preparations. You don’t have a job.”

  “I’ll be happy to help where I can.” Everland’s Christmas Festival was the town’s most special celebration all year; like a grander version of the weekly church socials, with a bonfire and fireworks and all sorts of beautiful songs and delicious roast foods. “It’s my favorite time of the year.”

  “I suppose I could allow you to come to next week’s planning meeting, if you could manage to find a gown that doesn’t look like you’ve been rolling in the mud. Really, Rose, if your father could see you…” Mama’s disappointed tone trailed off, and Rose tried not to be hurt.

  Instead, she smoothed a hand over her serviceable skirt, and tried to straighten her shoulders, the way her mother always nagged her to do. “Papa’s inexperience is the reason that we’re—”

  “Don’t you dare talk so disrespectfully about your father!”

  Rose winced at the bite in Mama’s voice, and turned back to the ledgers and papers on the desk. Her hands shook as she pretended to fuss with them, not wanting her mother to see how close to tears she already was. Mama was rarely satisfied with her work, or her appearance, or her contributions, or even her thoughts. Rose had long ago vowed not to let her mother know what sorts of things she wrote in her journals, sure that the older woman would not just disapprove, but forbid her from engaging in anything so unladylike.

  No, Mama wanted Rose—and Snow, if possible—to be a perfect, boring lady.

  Unfortunately, neither of them could afford to be, and still keep a roof over their heads. Papa’s poor investments and mistaken belief that the force of his will alone could command respect out here in Wyoming had landed them in their current pickle. Rose and Snow worked—often behind Mama’s back—to make sure his widow could continue to live life as lavishly as she had back in Alabama.

  For now, though, Rose had to repair the damage she’d caused her mother’s nerves. If she didn’t, many years of practice told her that Mama would pout and sulk and be harsher than usual in her critiques. “I’m sorry, Mama. I know that you must be tired. Why don’t you go rest? Snow bartered for some of Briar Jorgensen’s chocolates that you like so much, and I’m sure that she could bring them up to you.”

  The older woman’s brown eyes narrowed, and her lip pursed. Finally, after a long moment of studying Rose, she nodded and stood, her manner brisk and her gloves slapping against her opposite hand. She didn’t look at all exhausted any more, but Rose knew better than to question. “Snow isn’t totally useless at times, I suppose.” Rose managed not to wince. The only time Mama wasn’t horrible to Rose’s older half-sister was when she was irritated at Rose. “It was miraculous that she could remember my tastes. I confess that I’m quite enamored with Miss Jorgensen’s treats, even if I think that she’s preparing to marry far below her rank. Imagine, marrying a common servant like Gordon MacKinnon!” Rose greatly admired Briar and Gordon’s romance, and how thrilled they both were to be working together to fulfill their dreams, but pressed her lips together tightly to hold in the retort. Mama must’ve realized she wasn’t going to get the argument she wanted, and sniffed. “Very well. You may send Snow up with some chocolate and tea. That would be acceptable.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Rose watched as her mother swept from the room, her once-red hair carefully powdered in a style so out of date it wasn’t funny. Mama believed that her own hair—red, just like her daughter’s—was the mark of the devil, and far inferior to her husband’s pale-blonde mane. She was determined to ensure that Reginald White’s daughters married blonde men, to sire blonde grandsons for the deceased plantation owner. It was terribly old-fashioned, and a little out of touch with reality, but then…so was Mama.

  Lucinda White was obsessed with propriety, and making an acceptable match for her daughter. Of course, she had very clear opinions on what constituted the “perfect match”, and so far no man in Everland met those requirements. But Mama was content to wait, sure the right man would come along. A man worthy of Reginald White’s only legitimate offspring.

  And if she was honest with herself, Rose wanted to get married, too. At this point, it was just about the only thing she could imagine that would get her out of this house, away from Mama and away from Mama’s Ladies’ Club and Everland. Oh, the ladies in the club were nice enough, but Rose had never become friends with any of them. Had never been allowed to become friends with any of them, thanks to Mama’s high-handed dictates. Rose was to be proper and decorous at all times, and not associate with anyone who wasn’t up to Mama’s strict standards. Which was, of course, nearly everyone. Rose and Snow—who also wasn’t up to Mama’s standards—had to make do with each other as friends, and that was that.

  Of course, being “proper and decorous” was alrig
ht, if they wanted to starve. But the two White girls had been going behind Mama’s back for years, in an attempt to keep their home. Snow had her sewing, and Rose kept the hogs out in the barn, which Mama refused to acknowledge as necessary.

  And of course, Rose wrote.

  With another sigh, Rose finished tidying up the papers on the desk, and pulled the pencil from the journal. Even though Mama was gone, there was no use trying to pick up the thread of the story. Rose’s inspiration—and her desire to write—had been squashed by her mother. It wasn’t uncommon.

  Instead, she tucked the journal away between the household ledgers, sure that she’d be able to continue her story about the train robbers again as soon as Mama was resting and inspiration struck again, and went to find Snow in the kitchen.

  After passing along Mama’s requests, and a warning that Snow was once again in Lucinda’s good graces for however short an amount of time, Rose left her older sister putting together a tray. Their jackets were all hanging in the foyer—sure enough, Mama’s cloak was dripping all over the floor, so Rose shoved a rug under it and hoped that it hadn’t damaged the wooden floor—and she pulled down her green one. With her mother occupied upstairs, now was as good a time as any to toss the hogs the dinner slops.

  The sun was setting when she tramped across the snow to the barn. Their cottage stood on the outskirts of town, where Papa had been determined to build a plantation, like he had back home. But he’d died shortly after having the first small barn constructed, and now his widow and daughters used it to house the pigs they raised and sold for meat.

  It wasn’t how Rose had pictured her life going, oh no. She wanted to travel, to see the country… and to write about it. Her publisher back in Chicago told her that she had a “unique voice” when it came to her short stories, but the meager income wasn’t going to pay enough to get her away from these hogs. She had journals full of her attempts at adventure novels, and Snow said they were pretty good. All she needed was to see a little more of the world, and they’d be good enough for publication. As it was, writing scenes about train robberies and gallant lawmen kissing rescued damsels was hard when she barely remembered her only train ride, and had never even met a gallant lawman in a big white hat, much less kissed one.